


Exhaustion

by ThirstyBoy



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Not Beta Read, Post Game, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, im tired and shuichi is tired, original character mentioned and made for more plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 07:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17382305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirstyBoy/pseuds/ThirstyBoy
Summary: How long has it been, since then?





	Exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

> hi  
> i haven't written anything before, and i love drv3  
> im also sick and its 5am i hope you enjoy this im sorry

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

  
The silence of the darkened room is only lessened by the sound of the wall clock, as the "detective" laid awake in his bed, knowing full well without checking the time that it was far too late. Rolling over on his side, weary body craving rest but mind awake, he stares out of his window, his apartment overlooking the city.  
How long has it been?

  
The "game" that they had destroyed, only to return to the "real world" as celebrities. People praised them for raising the ratings of said "game show", gaining more viewership, increasing their funds, and pulling the company out of risk of bankruptcy. Yes, the "heroes" of the now-revived show Danganronpa are paid well by the company as their reward for "winning", as well as the royalties for Team Danganronpa selling merchandise of his (and his friends') likenesses.

  
That's not even getting into the convention guest invitations, the talk shows, and-- to his horror-- job offers for related "game shows" that want to bandwagon on the money making machine that is the Killing Game.

  
_Tick. Tick. Tick._

  
Restlessness persisting, the man sighs as he drags himself out of bed, slowly sauntering through his too big residence to brew himself some coffee. It's almost a daily routine at this point-- him, slowly wasting away in his borderline penthouse apartment as passes time doing various menial tasks. The once "detective" now spends his days watching TV, switching between the news, drama shows, anything that could distract him for even a brief moment.

  
But not crime shows. He would never be able to handle something like that again. Some "detective" he is.

  
A hot coffee in hand, he takes himself to the living room, sitting in the too soft yet firm couch as the TV is turned on to another random channel and attention turned towards the month(s?) old pile of fan mail piled into a box next to the coffee table. Sighing, he sets down his bitter coffee to finally sort this disaster.

  
Shuichi already knows what to expect. A good amount of the letters are from naive teens (children) looking up to him, to their "hero" that stopped the "bad guys", how they want to be just as cool as him, as confident as he was, and-- sadly-- their personal confession to him on their audition to Danganronpa ("I didn't even tell my parents yet!!!!!" one read, leaving a bad taste in his mouth). Much less of them is hate mail, cursing him for continuing the killing games (even though he didn't, he tried so hard to stop it), going so far as to send him death threats.

  
Even now, all his receiving mail and packages have to be checked ever since the incident. He felt guilty, with how the hospital had to try and keep fans(killers?) from lying their way into visiting him. It just made it harder for people that actually knew him to visit him.

  
Not that anyone did, anyways.

  
Himiko didn't last long. The pressure was too much for her, with the fans and the threats, after a couple years she changed her name and immigrated to another country. Team Danganronpa confirmed that she still gets paid (legally, they are required to for the royalties), but the "mage" requested that her new private information to not be disclosed to the other winners. Probably to try and forget what had happened.

  
If only it was that easy.

  
Maki was gone almost immediately. She truly got the worst of it, from her talent to her bullying the "fan favorite character" of the season. To this day, Shuichi has no clue what ever happened to the "assassin", or if she was even alive still.

  
How lucky.

  
A letter catches his attention. Holding it, it felt heavier than the others. Whatever was in it was hard, but since his mail is checked, it wasn't anything dangerous... Right? The letter is opened as his coffee starts to grow cold (did he even drink any of it?), and golden-grey eyes skim the words on the paper.

  
_"To Saihara Shuichi... was angry about... want to move on... give this to you..."_

  
Looking back at the envelope, a red flip phone sat inside, ignored in favor of the letter. Somewhat hesitantly, he took it into his hand, examining it. It wasn't brand new-- tiny scratches on the edges, possibly dropped a couple of times, but overall taken care of. Shuichi flips it open and--

  
his breath hitches.

  
The background is the familiar, once hazy memory now completely clear, face of the late Kaede Akamatsu, posing in her selfie with her twin sister, Kayoko (she screamed at him, had to get escorted away when she pulled at his hair--). The phone had outdated apps, most of the country had moved on to better apps and better phones. The message icon has a red "1" on it.

  
Regaining his breath, he tries to shake his nerves as he dials the arrows, to select the messaging app. As it opens, the only new message is from her sister. The others are from various other numbers, some labelled with contacts. Drawn to the unread message, he selects it. He starts shaking.

  
**_"Don't you ever forget what you did."_ **

  
The phone clatters onto the table, bouncing off and ending up on the floor. Heavy breathing as he brings his hands to his face, trying to regulate his breathing, like his psychiatrist said, stay calm, and--

  
It's no use. The panic is too strong. Fear controlling him, his hands wander up and start tugging at his own hair, tears flowing from his eyes as he struggled to breathe. Memories of the game (that took innocent lives), the people (that he let down, let them get killed for no reason), the world (that only wants to see more teenagers throw away their lives for their sick entertainment)--

  
This was the worst threat he has gotten.

  
He can't help but finally scream and yell, letting loose his emotions, sobbing as the TV continued playing a cheesy movie about a girl with a sword. But he can't see it. No, he can only see the blood, the pirahnas, the fire, burning flesh, life leaving their eyes--

  
His own hell.

  
How long does he have to suffer until he can be at peace? How long until he just can't take anymore? Until he breaks?

  
Confined to his home, no longer able to listen to classical music, to watch certain sports, having certain sodas in his abode, even the night sky--

  
The night sky is painful.

  
After an eternity, exhaustion starts to override his panic rather than calm. No, calm would never come. With the bare realization that he is now laying on the floor (he must've fallen at some point), light sobs and hiccups peppered between the white noise of the TV and the rhythmic sounds of a nearby clock. As his heavy eyes finally close and closure far from coming, the man looks beyond this world, falling unconcious with the thoughts(dreams?) of a better world-- one without this sick game, without this pain and suffering, one where he could go back to when he remembered how to be happy.

  
As he sleeps, he curses it all.

  
_Tick. Tick. Tick._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for making it to the end  
> i really appreciate it and i appreciate you  
> hopefully i will be able to write more if i get better at wording,


End file.
